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Junkyard Blues
Last time, on The Transformers! Actually, it was more like a month or so ago, when Autobots and Decepticons alike ended up getting tossed into a race for their literal lives courtesy of the Velocitron oilsport underground. But in the process of saving themselves the Autobots also picked up a hint on one of their own still stuck there. And now have come back for him. Which brings them to here. No man's land. The Scrap Fields were the biggest junkyard on Velocitron, where all the wrecks and broken gear eventually ended up, resulting in heaps of twisted metal and debris as far as the optics can see, from tiny mounds to towering mountains. Home to junkers and punks that can't make it even in the greasy underworld compatitions. Only the brave or the foolish dared venture into them in search of salvagable materials... but this is where the missing Autobot's trail has lead, as he has a reputation of braving the dangers for the other racers that can't. But while following the trail looking for him, there may be someone following the Autobots as well... Warpath is a tough minibot, and isn't intimidated by spooky scrapyards. Especially not when there's the question of missing Auto-buddies. The Red Tank climbs up a hill of scrap and then sits there like King of The Mountain. The barrel mounted on the turret pans right, pans left. "BAM, KAPOW, I wonder where he ZOWIE, went!" Warpath folds down into his awesome tank mode. Whiteout wasn't actually on the original incersion onto the speed planet. He heard about it though. And just happened to hijack a signal from the race so he could watch it. Any time the wreckers are involved in something it's bound to make for good radio, after all. He's also heard of this stranger that they found down there, and considering the fact that he was built for rough terrain, came along. "Dunno, but the radios sure are quiet out here, eh?" White armor turned brown in spots from climbing up hills of scrap and debris, the small tape bot known as Whiteout climbs up alongside Warpath. He raises his head, ears sticking straight up as if listening to something. Not actually anything audible, but for radio waves. "I think I've gotten way too used to Earth's radio stations. All I get here are race results!" Powerglide appears behind Warpath and Whiteout after a tough climb up the scrap hill. "So.. this guy we're looking for," he says, stretching his arms up over his head then letting them drop down and dangle by his sides. "Is he even still alive or did he get torn apart by psychos? I mean, look at this place." He motions to the entirety of the scrap yard. "If I was a psycho serial killer I would want to live here." If one listened closely, they might hear the sound of motors running in the distance... a few hills over prehaps? Distance is hard to tell in this landscape that all looks alike. But as it's the first sign remotely of life out here, prehaps it's worth checking out? It might even be the guy they're looking for... "Powerglide! Why the BLAM, heck aren't you in the air, scouting for us? You could help us find the guy faster than on the POW, ground." The Red Tank slowly goes over the hill, taking care not to go too quickly. He doesn't want the scrap to shift and send him tumbling wrong-side-up down the heap. "Shhh, can you hear something? Whiteout, I thought I ZOOM, heard something." Unfortunately, creeping slowly doesn't do much to dull the squeeka-squeeka noise made by his tank treads. Abruptly, Whiteout stops. Large ears swivel around, picking up the soundwaves from the motors. He frowns a little, leaning forwards. "Sounds like cars? There's cars all over the place out on this planet, but I haven't heard anything out here yet till now," He points out, flicking an ear. But he jumps on ahead, broad paws proving to be just as capable on dry land as they are on slick ice. "Worth a look see though, eh?" Leaping lightly, he lands on an unstable scrap of metal paneling. The metal under it gives way, causing the sheet to start to slide a little bit down the hillside in something of an impromptu slide. "Has it ever occured to you that maybe, JUST MAYBE, I wanted to be part of the group?" Powerglide exclaims. "You guys are all ground pounders so you wouldn't understand. It's lonely at the top! Oh, woe! Being the only awesome dude in the sky is so diffi-" He stops when he realizes that Warpath isn't listening. "Pfft, yeah, whatever." Powerglide transforms and takes off into the sky to get a better view of this god-forsaken wasteland of a scrap yard. Powerglide turns into an AWESOME jet On a much better built-up section of the planet, Fusillade is having a bit of sport -- at the other racers' expense. The tremendous bomber has taken it upon herself to fly through the loops and corkscrews of the racetracks, the backblast from her engines sending cars careening across each others paths and against the barricades. With a nasty cackle, she soars upward to admire her handiwork, before catching a faint red glimmer on the horizon. "Oh, this could be interesting. Hope it's not a crazy hermit hobo wandering out lost in the scrapheap desert, THAT'd be a total waste of time." The bomber straightens her flight path, and begins cruising over to where the Autobot contigent happens to be marching. Kenworth K100 Aerodyne , barrelling down the looping track, comes to a screeching halt as Fusillade banks away and heads out towards the plains of wreckage. "I would MUCH rather direct our forces towards the devastation of the greatest Autobots! These meddling human germs are nothing but- where are you going?" Revving his engine, Motormaster smashes through the guardrail and pursues Fusillade with a combination of curiosity and irritation. The sound of roaring engines turns out to not be cars, but suped up motorcycles and off-road vehicles reverbing through the steel hills and valleys. They're hard to miss with their menagerie of races riders, especially when several blast through right in front of the Autobots. One at the back of the pack hits the brakes and skids sideways to stop, then turns to face the way they'd come. "Hey dudes! Check this out, it's a bunch of those robot men." A couple more turn around and come up behind him. "The ones that transform?" On the other side, its a pig-faced alien sporting weird sunglasses that look like they came from the 80's, who reachs into his sidecar to pull out a laser cutter and grins. "I bet we could *snort* get some phat loot fer chopshoppin' a couple of t-formers!" From the air it's easy to see several more of the biker gang taking wide turns and climbing up onto the scrap-piles around the Autobots, looking to get them surrounded... A-10 Thunderbolt II continues flying around in the air, occasionally shooting bullets into random piles of junk and pretending that they were exploding. He watches the group of bikers curiously but begins to freak out when the begin accosting his fellow Autobots. "It's the psycho, drugged out serial killers I was talking about! I WARNED YOU ABOUT THEM, BRO! I TOLD YOU!" "No filthy organic will count coup on my enemies!" Motormaster bellows, running over one of the slower bikers and grinding the slapdash bike under his wheels. "You do not deserve them!" He gears down, brakes, goes into reverse and backs over the biker, then puts it into first and drives over him again, and so on. IT KEEPS HAPPENING Banking hard on her left wing, Fusillade whips past several of the bikers, engines belting out 140 dB just a few dozen meters above the ground. She drops off a few GATOR bombs, which fragment and leave behind an explosive legacy of anti-vehicle and anti-personnel mines. "I was coming over to see THIS, of course!! And it looks like they're a bit more entertaining than hobo hermits." She waggles her wings jauntily as orange detonations blossom up behind her. "Looks like there's some Autobots here too, which is nice." Whiteout's impromptu sled comes to a stop just on the bottom of the first hill, where he tumbles off, ending up instead muzzle first in some of the debris. "Still working the kinks out," He mutters, scraping some metal that got impacted onto his muzzle, "Easy to forget to move all four legs sometimes." Rising, he presses onward, running towards the sound of the motors. And now voices. Whiteout's raised ears start to lower, the wolf tape realizing that it's not exactly what they were looking for. At least, he's pretty sure this isn't what he's looking for. "Yeeaah, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that this isn't the right way." But now they've already gotten the attention of the pig-things. Who appear to be entertaining a Decepticon... Whiteout moves quickly back off of the motor way. He buries his paws into the dirt beneath him, and takes in a deep breath. Frost gathers at his neck, before he opens his mouth and lets loose a thick cone of frost that forms quickly into an instant ice slick on the path under the pigs. But he's not discriminating; he might end up getting Motormaster in the frosty mix, too. Combat: Whiteout misses Kenworth K100 Aerodyne with his Instant Ice Slick and frozen joints! attack! -1 "WHAM, BANG, there's your POW, robot serial killers!" the Red Tank tells Powerglide, "And at least one of them's in the ZOOM, air!" He finds himself in the sights of several bikers. "Blam, BOOM, take that! Ain't nobody going to carve me up for scrap!" The Global Pose Tracker marks that Red Tank has 'skipped' his action for this round. A couple of would-be chargers get run off their course by junk falling from Powerglide's bored target practice.. one unfortunately doging that just to end up in the path of the oncoming semi.. and then it backing up... and then forward again... needless to say he's not much for hearing what the Stunticon is ranting about. Several wipe out on Whiteout's sudden ice hazard. Followed by junk and blasted bikes alike flying from the abrupt machine guns and bombs from above, and the minibot tank's precision aim. But while the chaos rages below, a couple more of the gangbangers pull up atop a high scrap ridge. "I don't think they're doing so well, boss." "Yeah, looks rough down there." "Nonsense!" the 'boss' in the middle, a little green guy with big ears riding a three-wheeler retorts. "If we can't sell it," he pulls a bigass rocket launcher out of the back and shoulders it, "Then we blow it up! Get those crowbars ready to finish off the straggle--err?!" The loud "BLAAAAAAAAAAAAHR!" of an air horn cuts him off. Followed by the scrap-pile seeming to explode as something big slams into the back of it very fast. Admist the shower of junk, bikes and punks flung into the air as they collide with the large front plow, a large red and brown truck comes screaming through the wreckage, sparks flying as it hits the ground again and skids into a sidways stop. The little green guy ends up going SPLAT against his windsheild. And promptly gets slapped a few times across the face by the truck's wipers. "Slaggin' bikers, they're thicker than flies out here!" Was that the driver... or the truck itself? Meanwhile, the rest of the gang seems to realized they're outmatched, what with a tank and freakin' bomber and all! And promptly scramble in all directions -away- from the alien robots/vehicles "Awww, lookit, you're tire-paintin'! I'll take a picture from up here so you can enjoy your handiwork!" Fusillade needles Motormaster from the skies. The bikers start scattering, and it's with some disappointment that she snaps off a few half-hearted, albeit high-capacitance laser rounds in their direction. One hits, and she soars over the conflagration, laughing aloud, "LUAU!" With those targets dispatched, she banks again, and the roar of her engines begins to bear down upon the dust-covered truck, Motormaster, and the Autobot scouting party. Kenworth K100 Aerodyne slides across the suddenly slick ground, but Motormaster crashes for a living and he doesn't jackknife unless he MEANS to. Transforming to rise up into a 'surfing' crouch, Motormaster skates across the ice until he can get traction again, at which point he turns to glare redly at Whiteout for a moment before a pair of thin red beams slice out of his eyes! "Opportunist! Jackal!" With a loud clacking and grinding sound, Motormaster pulls himself up into his grim humanoid form. Combat: Motormaster sets his defense level to Guarded. Combat: Motormaster misses Whiteout with his Optical Heat Rays (Laser) attack! Whiteout quickly disappears underneath a pile of rubble the moment that he spots that big bot turning those eyes on him, metal falling down the pile of scrap as a result of how quickly he moves out of the way. One downside to being remade into a tape; big things are bigger! "You were in the way! Not my fault your aft is too big!" Calls out the little 'white' canine, "And it's a wolf!" Not risking glancing around his protective rubble, he instead focuses on a reflective surface in front of him. And barks. He might not be a bat, but the sound waves bounce off of the surface well enough, telling him all he needs to know about what's behind him. And sends the targeting data onwards to the nearest big gun. Being Warpath, in this case. It doesn't keep his large ears from noticing the new bot in the area. "... Great, and more newcomers! Just what we need, more trouble, eh?" Combat: Whiteout takes extra time to assist Red Tank's next attack. "WHAM, POW, INCOMING!" the Red Tank warns. He's already taken care of the pork chops on the ground in front of him. The roar of jet engines not belonging to Powerglide cause his turret to rotate and pinpoint the source. "Now let's WHACK, make this one a ground-pounder too!" he says. The barrel aims for the bomber in the sky. "Thanks for the boost, Whiteout!" Combat: Red Tank strikes Space-Going B-1R Lancer with his BAM POW! KABLAMMO! (Laser) attack! With a groan the little green punk slides down off the truck's front, and slinks off under some pile of junk to stay out of the way for some of his gang to come back for him... if they come back for him. The big wrecker revs a couple of times, smoke puffing out of its smokestacks. About to ask just what was going on, but pauses first as he takes note of the faction emblems on the tank and the wolf. And then the big black guy shooting at the wolf. The engine roar that comes out of the truck is almost like thunder. Scrap flies behind it as back wheels spin briefly and then throw it into motion. "HEY PISTON HEAD!" Which sends it charging towards Motormaster, light glinting off the front plow. "Pick on someone yer own size!" Combat: Cyberpunk Wrecker Rig sets his defense level to Fearless. Combat: Cyberpunk Wrecker Rig strikes Motormaster with his Plowing Ahead attack! -2 The shot flies true from Warpath's barrel, sending ceramic space tile and ailerons from her left wing's trailing edge pelting down on those below. "WHOA whoa there, didn't realize it was LOVE TAP night out here on the junkyard! Tit for tat, I deserve a lot of tat for what I've got to give!" The bomber's nosecone glimmers purple from the charging laser, before a large bolt pierces toward Warpath with a -BWOMP-. "Ey! Motormaster, not sure how good of a view you got from that side-swipin' sidewinder, but from up here, I see a nice red Autobot TARGET on his cab." Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer strikes Red Tank with her Nose-Mounted Laser (Laser) attack! Motormaster crumples over the nose of the oncoming truck as Horsepower slams his dozer blade into his midsection, taking Motormaster entirely by surprise! The red Autobot symbol is unmistakeable, right in front of hise nose like that. "What?! A new Autobot? I might've realized this was a cowardly ambush!" Grabbing onto the wrecker, Motormaster tries to dig his feet in to get some leverage with which to throw Horsepower over his knee! Combat: Motormaster misses Cyberpunk Wrecker Rig with his Truck Judo attack! -1 Whiteout ping! "... I'm picking up a radio signal ping on an old autobot frequency from that new truck. But the security code is good, belonging to a 'Horsepower'. Shall I ping 'em an update and patch in?" Sandstorm says, "A new Autobot? You have to ask?!" Whiteout says, "Um, probably?" Sandstorm says, "... Oh, right, you probably should." "HAH! What was that, a POW, leaf blowing in front of my armor?" the Red Tank taunts. "Here, let me ZAP, tap some more!" The turret tracks the bomber for another shot. A HUD inside the tank shows a red crosshairs attempting to establish a lock. Combat: Red Tank strikes Space-Going B-1R Lancer with his WHAM POW TAP THIS! (Disruptor) attack! Sandstorm says, "Well, you asked. Now do it! Com'n people, be a little more impulsive. Like me... actually, no, not like me. I'm the one that blows himself up for a thrill." Let's Blow Scrap Up! Warpath says, "If Sandstorm says it's good then POW, I say it's good!" Fanfare says, "Aye, if everyone was like ye, Sandstorm, ye'd not be so... unique."" Without anything actually being fired back at him, Whiteout has a moment to analyze the odd ping coming from the truck. Probably an automated thing. He frowns, ears swiveling sort of like little antennae. It's an old frequency ping, but the security code is active. No wonder it couldn't ping a radio relay. <> Whiteout transmits directly to the newcomer. <> Combat: Whiteout sets his defense level to Guarded. It's a testament to Motormaster's size and brute strength that he does manage to actually start hoisting the wrecker off his wheels! But as someone who's grown quite familiar with the rough and rowdy nature of Velocitron's races, he knows how to react to losing his 'footing'. The truck is flipped, but it unfolds in the process, and lands with a heavy thud on his feet in a crouch...and pauses for a moment as his long unused radio crackles and pops as someone else remotes into it and starts updating it's protocols. "... Huh. Guess I found more than just scrap today." He smirks briefly as he flicks the old reciever over to Whiteout's wavelength, but the expression is soon lost when his mouthguard slides into place, giving his face an elongated and slightly more 'horse-like' appearance. "And the Decepticons are just big bullies as usual!" Reaching over his shoulder, he grabs the weapon mount next to his boom-arm and pulls it up over a shoulder like a bazooka. "Good ol' HORSEPOWER here don't take kindly to no bullies!" Exposition aside, he pulls the trigger. The back end of the cannon extends with a *FWOOMP* to grab a chunk out of the scrap pile behind him and shoves it up into the weapon. Then the *THOOM* as it fires, blasting the cluster sharp metal shrapnel at Motormaster! The oversized wrecker unfolds and uprights into a hefty looking robot. Combat: Horsepower misses Motormaster with the Horsepower-forged Scrapnel Blaster attack! Horsepower radio-crackle after Whiteout's radio magic. "Testin, testin, do ya read good buddies?" Let's Blow Scrap Up! Warpath says, "POW, ten-four, good buddy!" Fanfare says, "Aye we do." Horsepower says, "Slag, been ages since this thin's worked right. Thanks a heap little guy." Whiteout says, "Welcome! I've only got the spare processing for a partial update to new standards, so you won't get too great reception on a regular relay till then, but it'll do for mine." Motormaster's eyes light up as Horsepower transforms; he's almost Motormaster's own size. And a truck! This should be a good fight. He reaches up over his left shoulder and draws his great two-handed sword, spinning it to plant the point into the ground in the path of the shot; shrapnel clangs off of the blade and deflects around Motormaster as he withdraws towards the cover of a rocky hillock of junk. Combat: Motormaster sets his defense level to Protected. The return fire from Warpath was respectable. Fusillade's airframe shudders again as a more direct hit blows off half of one of her tailslabs. "FINE FINE!" She shouts back down at Warpath. "I'll give you what you want! You AND all your buddies! Since I'm supposed to be nothing but a big bully like the new guy said, ha ha! Eat your words! And my munitions!!!" The bomber decides to muscle in on Motormaster's claim, and has some sport with the gathered Autobots. "Forget makin' it rain, there's a hurricane on the way!" Her main weapons store bay opens up, and proceeds to inundate the Autobots with hefty thousand-pound JDAMs. Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer sets her defense level to Aggressive. Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer strikes Red Tank with her Bombs Area attack! Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer strikes Whiteout with her Bombs Area attack! Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer strikes Horsepower with her Bombs Area attack! Horsepower says, "Ten-four, I'll wait until later to ask what y'all doing out here." Horsepower says, "It's good 'nuff for now -- oh slag." Motormaster glares over the cover, heat rays slashing across the jagged terrain and incidentally cooking a pig. Combat: Motormaster strikes Horsepower with his Optical Heat Rays (Laser) attack! -1 "Haha, POW, that tickled!" the Red Tank says, after getting hit by some shrapnel from a JDAMn. The bomb mustn't have struck very closely. He shrugs it off like a mosquito bite. "Now, let me turn your hurricane into a BLAM, icestorm!" A cryo-shell gets loaded into his tank-barrel. "If Decepticons aren't bullies, then they aren't BLAMMO, Decepticons! Now take THAT, you POW, oversized flying garbage can!" Combat: Red Tank strikes Space-Going B-1R Lancer with his KAPOW KAZAM KACRACKLE! attack! Combat: That attack has temporarily impaired Space-Going B-1R Lancer's Agility. (Crippled) Horsepower gets glanced cross a broad shoulder by the optical lasers. But his attention is taken by the bomber passing overhead. "Oh slaggin'--" The rest of the curse is lost to the boom of explosions, smoke and flying debris. The big guy tries to move to give the smaller tapewolf some cover, but the bombs are all over the place, and even if he takes the direct hits the shockwaves are still enough to blast past his bulk. With a groan he shakes his head to clear it, and glances over his shoulder. "Hold on little buddy." Time to return a favor. He turns, hunching down to shield the smaller autobot with his bulk. Grabbing one of his extra panels of armor he holds back a hiss as he yanks it off, activates a welding tool from his wrist, and does a quick job of patching over the largests of Whiteout's wounds. "Y'all might wanna keep yer head low if this keeps up." Combat: Horsepower sets his defense level to Guarded. Combat: Horsepower quickly patches up some of Whiteout's minor injuries. Horsepower says, "By this oh so warm reception, Imma gonna assume the war's still kickin'." Fanfare says, "Aye." Horsepower grunts. "Dandy." Fanfare agrees "Aye." Let's Blow Scrap Up! Warpath says, "I need a bit of repair. Just in case old Big is Beautiful decides to SPLAT, drop another round!" Whiteout's cover might be decent enough to keep him protected from Motormaster's killer rays. Bombs, on the other hand. It's a good thing that he finished the update quickly, or else the connection might not have been made in the first place. But it still distracts him long enough that he doesn't realize he's in being targeted... Until he ends up in a plume of flames and a blast wave. The white wolf doesn't go flying too far at least. But that's only because he slams up into his cover instead. Something metal cracks, and it isn't the cover. "Ugh. So that's what it's like to be charr broiled," He mutters, struggling to lift himself up to all fours. He holds still long enough for Horsepower to do a quick patch job though. "Thanks. 'Preciate it, but I can't just duck under cover all the time while everyone's fighting." He grins, tail flicking once. "I've got my own tricks up my sleeve." The little wolf turns his eyes to the sky for that bomber. He barks again once, quieter. But it's enough to send enough sound waves for him to analyze the return, patching them into his own targeting computer. Combat: Whiteout takes extra time to aim his next attack. Horsepower says, "Be wiff ya in a jiff." Horsepower says, "Granted, I'm better with weapons than I am fixin', but every bit helps, no?" Let's Blow Scrap Up! Warpath says, "It POW, sure does!" Whiteout says, "I can't argue!" The shot from Warpath condenses air, supercooling Fusillade's engines. There's a droning whine as they wind down while icing over. Frost forms over the leading edges of her wings, and with a faint 'whup!' she stalls out, plummeting to the ground. She transforms, clattering awkwardly to her feet, wingblades drawn to protect against any incoming shots. "Awright, Motormaster, I'll leave the truck to you. Wouldn't dream of interfering any further with your cherished introductions." She draws hematite lips thin in amusement, before levelling her disruptor over the wrist holding her wingblade, and sends a bolt toward the wolf. "Not too keen on having my handiwork undone so soon," she hisses. Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer sets her defense level to Guarded. Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer misses Whiteout with her Nickel Plated Desert Robo-Eagle (Disruptor) attack! The shuddering whistle of a big diesel can be heard through the smoke and dust kicked up by the explosions, followed shortly by Motormaster's blaring air horn. The big chrome grill looms out of the drifting smoke, bearing down on Horsepower as he attends to Whiteout, and Warpath further up the hill behind them. "Allow me to introduce myself, Autobot! My name is Motormaster, and I rule the road!" Motormaster slams his great mass to the ground, converting into a big black cabover semi. Combat: Kenworth K100 Aerodyne sets his defense level to Fearless. Combat: Kenworth K100 Aerodyne strikes Horsepower with his Coming Through! (Ruckus) Area attack! Combat: Kenworth K100 Aerodyne strikes Whiteout with his Coming Through! (Ruckus) Area attack! Combat: Kenworth K100 Aerodyne strikes Red Tank with his Coming Through! (Ruckus) Area attack! Unfortunately a Red Tank is slow to get out of the way of a speeding Motormaster. He's bumped into, sending him spinning sideways and towards Horsepower. "Hey, Horsepower! If there's some fixing to be had, I'll take it! That last one really POW, hurt!" The tank stops spinning just a few feet away from the new Autobot. "Wooooo, PLUM, why's the room spinning?" The Global Pose Tracker marks that Red Tank has 'skipped' his action for this round. "This ain't even a road--" *Wham* Horsepower gets a proper introduction to Motormaster... and his grille! Enough to knock his bulk off his feet and crashing down into a pile of junk as the semi roars past to harass Warpath as well. Mutters a bit as he shoves some old parts off and starts to get up. He's already decided he does not like this 'Motormaster'... reminds him too much of the jerkaft big-shots he's put up with around the tracks. Luckly Warpath ends up not far from him, snapping him back to the hear and now. Muttering something about not missing this part of warfare much under his breath, he stoops over the tank and does a quick job of patching up openings in his armor. He is, by his own admittance, better with weapons than he is robots.. but the mechanic in him has enough aptitude to keep his buddies on the field a bit longer. Combat: Horsepower quickly patches up some of Red Tank's minor injuries. Let's Blow Scrap Up! Warpath says, "Wow, POW, thanks!" Horsepower says, "Just doin' my job." Let's Blow Scrap Up! Warpath says, "and what a job!" Whiteout proves to still have some mobility in his legs despite some bits of circuitry showing on them. He weaves to the side, the disruptor bolt frying a bit of metal beside him instead of his own hide. But it was a bit of a close call. And gets him directly in the path of that grill. It sends the little wolf sprawling across the scrap, only to disappear behind a pile of it. A moment later, his head pops out from behind the pile. His usual white and pale blue armor is even more browned and covered with the rust from the scrap than its actual proper color. "I think you should just cool it, lady," He huffs, a bit of frost visibly covering his fangs. Putting his analysis data to good use, he opens his muzzle to release a stream of ice at Fusillade. But it's a unique form of frost, one that clings and seems to grow on what it hits, interfering with different systems depending on the coverage. Combat: Whiteout misses Fusillade with his Permafrost Breath attack! "Oh I don't think so, I've had enough of THAT for one evening!" Fusillade objects to Whiteout's cold shoulder, dashing backwards on her now-thawed heel thrusters. "Might take a while, but I think you'll warm up to the idea of us sticking around a bit, ha ha." She snaps up her gun again, and fires at the nimble cybernetic creature -- an exercise in frustation that is certain to not hold her attention for long. Combat: Fusillade sets her defense level to Aggressive. Combat: Fusillade misses Whiteout with her Always Double-Tap (Disruptor) attack! Kenworth K100 Aerodyne keeps going for several hundred yards beyond the Autobot grouping before he slows to make a sweeping turn, kicking up chunks of dirt and metal and spraying pig blood from his mudflaps. The big black cab comes around first, followed shortly by the trailer. Blue diesel fumes puff from his stacks as he starts building up speed again, aiming for Horsepower. "I command the Decepticon ground forces; everything that walks, rolls, or crawls mewling for pity is my prey! There is no greater swordsman in the galaxy! I am a killer of men! You owe me fear, Autobot! More than that, you owe me AWE." Combat: Kenworth K100 Aerodyne strikes Horsepower with his King of the Road attack! As soon as he's patched up all properly, the Red Tank's turret stops spinning randomly. He picks a line of sight where he can try to get two Decepticons in one shot. This requires some backing up, sideways moving, and circling around. "Now, BLAM, take this! You think being on ice was fun, wait'll you taste the ZORCH, heat!" A thermal shell blasts out and hurtles towards the evil Decepticons! Combat: Red Tank misses Fusillade with his WHAM ZAP FLARE! Area attack! Combat: Red Tank strikes Kenworth K100 Aerodyne with his WHAM ZAP FLARE! Area attack! Nimble is right. But instead of dodging, Whiteout rushes forward. He takes advantage of his smaller stature by letting the disruptor blast fly right over him and blow up some scrap. "I don't know." Hurrying right for her, he almost seems to be rushing her. At least until he attempts to run under Fusillade, right between her legs. "You're kind of..." He stops abruptly and swivels around to face her, panels on either side of his shoulders opening up to reveal a pair of laser pistols. "Becoming a pain in the skidplate!" Laser pistols open fire, trying to aim at her back. But considering his lack of an angle, they're probably, well, aiming at her skidplate. Combat: Whiteout sets his defense level to Aggressive. Combat: Whiteout misses Fusillade with his Laser attack! Horsepower isn't stupid, or unaware. He can -here- that diesel engine coming... but his sole purpose is on helping out his newly refound comrades first and foremost, 'poppa bear' mentality in full swing by this point. Which is why he stands up, turns around and -grabs- Motormaster's cab. It's not enough to stop it from slamming into him, as the loud CRUNCH of metal that follows clearly indicates. But it is enough for him to take the blow, and keep the massive truck from rolling over the tank next to him as well as the two of them go hurtling through the scrap. Until Horsepower is finally thrown off by the momentum and crashes down hard into a pile of junk with enough force to knock it over and bury him. It sits there like that for a tense moment. And then a large black hand pushes its way out of the pile, followed by the rest of the heap as Horsepower pushes it off and gets up. There's a -massive- crater in his chest/cab where he took that blow, not to mention being smashed up from being tossed off in general. But he's still getting up, and by the look of it, not giving up either. "Bots, I think it's time we start wrappin' this up." He reachs behind his back with one hand and with a clatter pulls out one of his heavy towing chains, flippin the end into his other hand and starting to spin it at his side. "Only pity I got," he retorts to Motormaster's speech, "is fer that big ego you've got stuffed in that tiny hard drive of yours. And while normally my job is pulling semi's up." With a snap of his arm he flings the heavy chain of metal links, spikes and hooks towards Motormaster, "I'm good at knockin' em over too!" But the swing doesn't stop there, as he wheels around and yanks the metal length, whipping it in an arc to sweep it back towards the female bomber as well! Combat: Horsepower strikes Kenworth K100 Aerodyne with his Chain Reaction Area attack! Combat: Horsepower misses Fusillade with his Chain Reaction Area attack! Horsepower says, "Y'all see that big black lug there?" "HA! YAH! Missed me AGAIN!" Fusillade taunts as she pirouettes and poses gleefully at all the shots going wide. Well, she did slap away the solid ammo with her wingblades, at least. However, her glib expression fades as she receives a radio transmission. "What? I'm in the middle of -- yes sir. FINE. I'll do it now. SORRY I haven't drafted up like three million potential landing spots! Cripes I'm going now! I'm sorry you haven't found him yet! Don't take it out on me! Pitt!" She scowls fiercely at the combatants, and reholsters her wingblade. "You're gettin' off easy, someone more DANGEROUS than any of you has decided there's something ELSE I need to do. Have fun, Motormaster!" She dismisses her sulk with a shrug of pique, and then leaps up into the air, transforming to her bomber mode, summoning her clip-on rockets, and heading into orbit. Fusillade leans forward, wingblades whipping out to their full span, even as her arms lock backward in place as the rear fuselage. Her torso folds out to the become the cockpit of a space capable B-1R Lancer, ready for flight! Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer begins retreating, outrunning all pursuit. Horsepower says, "That is -exactly- what I've been puttin' up 'round here with." Kenworth K100 Aerodyne loses three tires to the spiked chain as he drives over it, until it gets caught by the third axle and winds up around it. The chain goes rocketing in towards Motormaster and chokes up that axle, sending him rolling over and sliding across the battlefield before he can transform to shake it off. "You and I will meet again, UPSTART, when the stakes are higher," Motormaster snarls in his hollow, booming voice, levelling a thick black finger at Horsepower. "We'll see how your clever tricks avail you THEN!" Crouching briefly, Motormaster fires the rockets built into his legs and lifts off, blasting heavily away into the sky after Fusillade. With a loud clacking and grinding sound, Motormaster pulls himself up into his grim humanoid form. Combat: Motormaster sets his defense level to Neutral. Combat: Motormaster begins retreating, leaving himself vulnerable to parting shots from Space-Going B-1R Lancer "WHAM, POW, yeah you'd better run!" the Red Tank shouts. "Or I'd have to transform and BLAM, put a boot in yer aft!" Now that the Decepticons are on the way out, Warpath transforms. "So hey, buddies, ready to head to Headquarters? My chassis is aching for repairs." The tank splits down the middle, then rises up. The treads separate into legs and arms pop out of the sides. The head comes out of the top of the tank. It's Warpath! Horsepower quickly unlatchs the chain when he feels the familiar clank of tension when it catchs in the truck's axle and lets go of it. Looks like it got the big thud to leave, at least.. or the femme's yelling did, either. His mouthguard slides open as he holds his hands up on either side of his mouth to project his voice as he yells after the retreating Stunticon. "Anytime, ya overgrown tractor!" That's all the parting shots he bothers taking. Huffing out a sigh of exhaust, he thumps down on a nearby pile of junk. "Give me a moment boys, I need to catch up. Ain't use to fightin' like that anymore." Idly he shoves some dangling burned wires and stuff back into his shoulder... and true to form, pulls out a piece of duct tape and slaps over the wound. Good enough for now. That done, he gets back up. "We get back to a proper shop and I can right take care of that. Least I can do, after all." He throws one broad arm around the shorter minibot's shoulders. "I'm just glad to finally be found out here." Combat: Horsepower quickly patches up some of his minor injuries. If it was any longer of a transmission, Whiteout might have tried to decrypt it. But as it is, he glowers at Fusillade, and makes like he's about to move to try and almost lunge after her. But his shoulder suddenly sparks in a decidedly angry fashion, making him yelp in pain. "Hmph! Sure, pick on the tape just because he's the little guy," He mutters, tail flickering in irritation. "Stay on the ground next time and I'll show you how dangerous I am!" Though right now, he's just feeling hurt. Eyeing Motormaster leave as well, the big white wolf slumps down onto his haunches with a grunt. "Still a successful mission, I suppose," he mutters, giving his head a quick shake. A few bits and pieces of scrap that doesn't belong to him becomes dislodged from his head. "Now that's over," He turns his head to eye up Horsepower, "Good t'meet you, eh?" "Name's Warpath and POW, good to meet you, too!" the minibot says, holding out a hand to Horsepower. "I think you'll fit right BLAM, back in!" "Right. Then I suggest we put it in gear before some of those punks come back lookin' for easy picks." Horsepower transforms, and fortunately for the way he compacts between his two modes, the only real damage visible is the half crushed cab. But there's more than enough room on the flatbed for the tape and minibot to hitch a ride. The oversized engine, big enough it actually sticks up through an opening in his hood, revs loudly. "Just climb on and tell me were t'go for a pickup." Shifting parts rearrange Horsepower's bulk into a hulking punked out wrecking rig. With a quiet hiss, Whiteout pushes himself up to all fours. "There's a shuttle not far away," He pipes up, making his way towards Horsepower. "On the edge of the wasteland. I'll signal 'em."